


Cut Deep into Your Soul

by Eleven_11



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: AU, But They're Not Friends, Choreographer!Niall, Choreographer!Zayn, Coach!Simon, Enemies to Lovers, Figure Skater!Harry, Harry and Louis are teammates, Harry just won the senior grand prix, Louis is coming back from an injury, Olympics AU, Trainer!liam, figure skater!Louis, figure skating
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-08-17
Packaged: 2019-06-18 20:05:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15493656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eleven_11/pseuds/Eleven_11
Summary: In the world of professional figure skating, you're either on or you're off. Harry's coming off a Senior Grand Prix win, Louis is coming off an ankle injury, and they've been rivals since they learned to skate. With the world waiting for what Harry will do next, and with Louis fighting to be a contender again, they're testing every limit they have, including their limits for one another. They're either going to destroy one another or finally get over the years of hatred. Either way, Harry has a feeling things are about to get messy.---Or, Louis and Harry are professional figure skaters who train together and have known each other for years. They hate each other, but maybe they'd both be happier if they didn't.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Number Four!! This one is completely self-indulgent because I love figure skating au's!
> 
> This is part of a Wordplay prompt challenge that a group of us are participating in for the prompt "polish".  To read the amazing fics that were written by the others on this prompt, [click here](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/polish/works), and to see all fics written as part of the challenge, [click here](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/wordplay_fic_challenge/works) or find the masterpost for this year’s challenge [here](https://wordplayfics.tumblr.com/post/175608230403/wordplay-2018-every-week-a-prompt-is-chosen-using).

_Stroke, cross, pivot, extend, pivot, swizzle swizzle…_

Harry fought to keep focused on his footwork section. Rule #1 of figure skating was focus, and he could feel his slipping away.

_Step, lunge, turn, up, mohawk, turn, pick pick, outside edge…_

The final notes of “Think of Me” were playing out now, and Harry was prepping for his quad flip combo. Why they’d put it right after footwork, he didn’t know, but he did know it sucked. (Well, that’s not true, he’d have a small breather and then get some bonuses for a fancy jump entrance, but at what _cost_?)

Right now, however, was not the time to debate his choreography.

_Inside, outside, cross, flip, pull pull…_

He took a deep breath and caught his timing again, switching to his left foot as he sped backward. He made sure to keep his chest up and shoulders in line with his hips as he bent into a lunge.

_Inhale, outside edge, down, up, twist, land—_

“Shit,” his voice cut through the sound of _The Phantom of the Opera’s_ overture playing through the rink’s speakers. He’d hit the ice hard, blade not quite making it all the way around and throwing him on his bum. He was now sliding across the ice instead of landing a triple toe loop like was written in his program.

Grunting and ignoring the pain that flared in his elbow from his fall, he got to his feet and rushed to catch up to his music and proper position on the ice. It was far from artistic, but he managed to get through his entrance and pull of a triple salchow that wasn’t too shit, even thought it was supposed to be a quad.

He knew his coach wouldn’t be happy with how either of the jumps went, so he decided to just not look at him.

He’d finally managed to catch up to where he should be, and he tried to even his breathing as he moved his arms up in a flourish with the swell of his music. He closed his eyes and tried to find his center. It was never too difficult on the ice really, but the fact that he knew Louis Tomlinson was skating on this session made it a bit difficult.

 _Yeah, and you falling on your arse doesn’t make it easier,_ he thought.

But now wasn’t any time to get frustrated. He took another “intentional breath” like his yoga instructor had shown him, and felt himself coming back to what he knew: ice, blades, music. Maybe there was something to all this yoga stuff.

He prepped for his next jump, took another deep breath, and landed a pretty decent triple axel. Axels were actually his ~~favorite~~ most consistent jump, so it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. But it still felt good.

He could feel himself losing steam, which was a new and wholly unwelcome sensation. Usually, Harry wouldn’t be thinking of just how _long_ his long program really was. Getting caught up in the music and skating kept most skaters focused, and, until this year, Harry had been no exception.

He willed himself to focus on his very quickly approaching jump combination. He hadn’t worried about triple loops in what felt like years, but in a shit run anything can go wrong.

Again it lacked any inkling of artistry, but he landed it cleanly. He could feel Louis’ undoubtedly judgmental eyes on him as he skated by.

 _We’re not all fucking swans on the ice like you are, Tomlinson_ , Harry thought to himself.

He could feel resentment building in his muscles. Louis Tomlinson could make skating beautiful just by stepping on the ice. It was irritating beyond belief.

He still had some spins left, so he willed himself to let go of any remaining tension and moved to center ice, intentionally not looking at anyone or anything.

His body took over as he butterflied into a camel spin, twisting his body in a set of well-known positions. The next spin was just as familiar, and it was a relief to finally do something that felt right. He held his position until the music hit its last crescendo, and Harry’s right toe picked into the ice, arms aloft like he hadn’t just fucked up.

Two unenthusiastic claps echoed in the silence of the rink.

“Not great. You know what you did wrong,” Simon's voice called from the penalty box.

Simon had been his coach for almost six years. His hair was greyer than when Harry first met him, and his skin was beginning to wrinkle. He wore his trademark all-black tracksuit and bright orange gloves with a pair of old black skates. He never tried to hide any disappointment or condescension, but he also didn’t rub your face in your mistakes too much. He was the best in the country, which was why he got away with being not so nice.

Panting, Harry dropped his arms and made his way over to Simon’s patch of the wall.

“You’re rotating your hips early on the toe loop take-off. It’s why you keep falling,” he said. Harry nodded. “It’s throwing you sideways when you land.” Harry nodded again. “You’ll fix it.” Harry nodded a third time. It wasn’t a question, but it wasn’t condescending either. He’d fix it or he’d fall, and he really didn’t like to fall.

“Your elbow okay?” Simon asked. Harry pulled his hand away from where it was absently rubbing at his sore elbow.

“Yeah. Uh—” Harry cleared his throat, “it’s fine. I’ve had worse.”

Simon nodded. “Take a couple laps and get some ice if you need it. You’re done for the day.”

Harry opened his mouth to argue, but caught himself. If he’d learned anything in his six years with Simon, it was that the guy actually did know what he was talking about. When he said you were done, you were done.

Harry turned to start making his way around the rink, but hesitated when he felt someone watching him. He lifted his eyes to find Louis Tomlinson staring at him with an odd expression on his face, like he wasn’t all there. Harry furrowed his eyebrows at him, and Louis seemed to snap back into himself, trademark troublemaker grin quirking his mouth up at the edges. His eyes were unnervingly bright.

 _Just leave me alone_ , Harry begged in his head.  _I don’t need this today_.

He tried to move as quickly as possible around Louis’ corner of the rink, thinking that he could somehow outskate Louis with speed alone. Unfortunately, Louis was also a professional figure skater, so he just cut the corner and moved in Harry’s way. Ice sprayed from beneath his blades as he skidded to a stop.

“Harold!” he grinned. “Quite the nasty spill you had back there.”

Harry took a deep breath. “Louis, just let me—”

“Not looking to try it again are we?” he teased.

 _Looking to punch you in your stupid mouth_ , Harry thought, but kept his face neutral.

“No,” he replied, “Simon’s just told me I’m done for the day.”

Something that Harry almost mistook for concern flashed across Louis eyes. “You’re not hurt are you?” he asked, moving a hand to his elbow.

“No, I’m not hurt,” Harry bit back, snatching his arm away. “Just a shit day that we both know won’t get any better.” Louis leaned back slightly at his tone, face softening. He opened his mouth to say something more, but visibly thought better of it. His face returned to the usual mocking smirk Harry had come to know and hate.

“Been having a lot of those lately, Harold?” he asked, accent lilting with glee.

“Shove off."

He knocked into Louis’ shoulder to get past him and started his laps.

“It’s alright, Styles,” Louis called after him, “nothing wrong with peaking early!”

Harry heard roaring in his ears but he kept skating away, focusing on the cold air biting his cheeks and the feeling of cutting through ice. This was his happy place, and he’d be damned if he let Louis Tomlinson ruin it for him.

He felt his muscles relax as he sunk into a familiar rhythm, someone else’s music playing over the speakers.

 

 _Just a shit day_ , he told himself on the way to Liam's office. _Happens to everyone_.

 _Not Tomlinson_ , said a little voice in his head. _Not since he came back_.

Harry was too exhausted to be angered by the thought, so it just settled in his chest like weight of disappointment that he couldn’t shake.

Louis had been injured last season, a bad ankle that had only gotten worse. Unlike most athletes, however, Louis actually came back stronger than he was before. He had four quad jumps now, and his already remarkable artistry only got better. It was like there was new breath in his skating. 

It would be inspiring if Harry didn’t hate him so much.

Harry had known Louis for almost his entire life; it tends to happen in the world of competitive figure skating. They were always just far enough away in age to avoid competing with one another as kids, but being top of their age groups lent them to comparison anyway. The one year they both competed as juniors, Harry 14 and Louis 16, was an absolute mess. Harry probably pushed himself too hard to be competitive with Louis, but it worked. There was some talk when Louis entered the Senior level that he’d been off his game all year, and Harry couldn’t help but hope that he’d somehow been the cause.

It wasn’t that Harry decided to hate Louis from the beginning. They were actually good friends when they both started skating. Louis was loud and obnoxious, but Harry never seemed to mind. He could handle Louis way better than their teacher anyway.

No one knew what really happened, but one day the two boys just couldn't stand one another. They were too young to really remember what happened, but the animosity stuck.

From then on, Harry found Louis irritating and rude, and Louis found Harry stuffy and dull. Their parents and teachers decided distance was the best thing for the two of them.

However, as they grew up, distance got more difficult. People started to quit when skarting got more intense, and rides to competitions quickly dwindled to just the two of them and Simon. Harry was content to read, but Louis never grew out of his ~~annoyingness~~ hyperactivity so most of his time was spent fending off a bored Louis.

Being on the same team also meant sharing spaces and warm up regimens, and basically being training partners. They were fine, but it was never necessarily what either boy would have preferred.

Things continued like that for years. They both kept training, Harry using Louis as a kind of benchmark, and Louis excelling far beyond what Harry could do.

 

When Harry turned 16, however, “things” got more interesting. Harry landed his first quad jump, and Louis landed his first boyfriend.

Harry’s quad wasn’t a secret, and Louis was more rattled by it than he’d like to admit. He was still working on getting his own quad consistent enough to compete, and now he had a quad-landing Harry Styles to deal with. In a few months, Harry would start competing at the senior level with him, and Louis did _not_ want to admit that little Curly Styles was a threat. He had always been one step ahead, and he had no interest in changing that.

Louis’ boyfriend, however, _was_ a secret. Ryan started coming to Louis’ competitions, which annoyed Harry because he’d constantly interrupt their long-established warm up routine to come wish Louis luck. He was a nice guy, but really only skaters should have been in the warm-up areas. There was no reason for him to be talking to Louis.

Harry complained to his mom about it once, and Anne was quick to ask if it just wasn’t Harry being jealous of Ryan.

“Oh my god Mom! No!” Harry replied, near disgusted. “Louis’ annoying and weird. I just don’t like the two of them being together everywhere.”

Anne smirked like she didn’t believe him. Harry never complained to her about Ryan again.

Harry didn’t find out that Louis and Ryan were more than just friends until he walked into their rink’s locker room after practice one day and found them snogging by the sinks.

“Oh shit!” he screamed, attempting to shield his eyes and step backward at the same time. “I’m so sorry. I’ll just—I can—I’m going to leave and—“ his voice cut off as he tripped backward over a bench and hit the ground. When he looked up he found Louis and Ryan still wrapped in one another, but they’d stopped kissing and were now looking at Harry with wide eyes and open mouths.

Louis cleared his throat. “Harry—” he began, moving out of Ryan's arms. Harry quickly got to his feet and bolted out the door. “Ryan, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know he’d come in here so soon.” He moved out of Ryan’s arms and grabbed Harry’s shoes that had fallen to the floor. “I should. I should really go out there though,” he said, and in a flash he was out the door running after Harry.

“Harry! Harry! Please wait, I need to explain—”

“No that’s really not necessary,” Harry replied still walking with his back to Louis. “It was pretty obvious what was happening. I’m sorry I didn’t knock or —

”

“Harry, no, it’s not your fault," Louis said. "Please stop for a second and look at me.”

With a sigh, Harry slowly turned to face Louis.

“Really, Louis, it’s no big deal— No let me just say this— you don’t owe me an explanation or anything. I don’t care what you do. Just, like, warn me next time or something.”

Harry’s eyes met Louis’.

“Okay,” Louis replied, stunned. "I can do that.” He scratched the back of his neck and looked down. “So you don’t care that I’m—” he exhaled heavily, “ya know…gay?”

Harry barked a laugh at that, which would have made Louis angry if he weren’t so nervous. There was no reason to be a dick about it. 

Harry noticed his discomfort and sobered. He cleared his throat and reached a hand to Louis’ shoulder. “No, Louis. I definitely don’t care that you’re gay. Just don’t snog on all my stuff, yeah?”

Louis was taken aback both by Harry’s response and the fact that Harry was actually touching him, but he was most surprised by the smirk on Harry’s face. There was a gleam in his eyes too, one that said _I know something you don’t._ Butbefore Louis could do or say anything else, Harry turned and walked away.

“All good?” he heard Ryan ask from behind him.

Louis tuned away from Harry’s retreating figure. “Uh. Yeah. I guess. All good.”

 

Ryan broke up with Louis a year later, right before his first Senior Grand Prix finals. If Harry noticed that Louis’ eyes were red and puffy, he didn’t mention it. And if Louis noticed Harry gently nudging Louis’ lunch closer to him, he didn’t say anything either.

 

Neither of them placed that year, but Harry had come closest in 4th. He’d always imaged beating Louis would feel better.

 

The next year, when Louis was 19 and Harry was 17, Harry actually won the Senior Grand Prix. He cried and he was sure he looked insane but he couldn't have cared less. 

He’d fully come into his own with jumping, landing five quads in his long program. His 4th place finish the year previous had given him some popularity, but his season debut with four quads and a triple axel had properly put him in the spotlight. Harry was never one to shy from a challenge, and he handled the pressure like a pro, which, if he thought about it, he _was_.

Louis was doing well at the beginning of the season too. What he lacked in rotations he made up for in footwork, spins, and his trademark artistry that even Harry would admit was impressive. He and Harry traded victories until about halfway through the season when Louis pushed his quad flip too hard and really messed up his ankle. So messed up that he needed surgery and had to sit out the rest of the season.

Harry thought it was nice to finally have some peace and quiet before competitions, but he couldn’t help feeling that his victory was only conditional without Louis in the mix. Beat the best to be the best or whatever.

 

Fast forward another year, however, and it was Louis who was top of his game while Harry was sidelined in every way but physically. Harry knew he was being dramatic, but losing the feel for half his jumps felt like he was losing his grip on everything he knew about skating. And it was fucking _Polishing Week_ already. He couldn’t afford to be this far off his game with competition season only weeks away.

“Liaaaammm,” he whined, walking into the training area. Liam was their team’s physio and an absolute magician when it came to anything muscular-skeletal.

Harry flopped himself on the table behind Liam’s desk, staring at Liam’s back as he worked at his computer.

“Yeah, Haz,” he answered without looking up.

“Liammmmm,” Harry repeated again, flopping his hand generally in Liam’s direction.

“Haz, I love you, but I actually have a bit of work so if you’re just going to—”

“Woooow,” Harry interrupted. “It’s not like I landed on my elbow earlier and actually might need medical attention or anything.”

Liam whipped around, disrupting a pile of papers on his desk, face full of worry.

“Shit! Harry!” he exclaimed, hands already grabbing the arm Harry had cradled against his body. “That’s something you _lead_ with when you come to see me, man” he chided. “Is that why you’re back early? Does it feel broken or sprained? Are you in much pain?”

Harry giggled at Liam’s motherly tendencies coming out before responding. “Li, I’m kidding, I’m fine.” Liam shot him a confused look from where he was already probing his bruising elbow. “Well,” Harry amended, “not like, _completely_ fine. But it’s not broken, I promise. Just fell again on a toe loop.”

Liam was moving his arm in and out, testing his joint, “Does this hurt?” Harry shrugged in response. “It seems like you’re doing that a lot lately,” Liam said. “The falling thing, I mean. Everything okay?”

There was no teasing or judgement mixed with the concern in his voice. This was why Harry loved Liam.

He didn’t necessarily want to talk about the fact that his jumps were going to shit, but Liam also wasn’t a stranger to Harry’s issue. Being the team trainer, Liam was privy to absolutely everything that went on with the athletes. The fact that Harry was in his office nearly every day with bruises also probably helped him figure it out.

Harry groaned and brought his good arm up to cover his eyes. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just can’t jump anymore and might as well just quit and become a street performers or something.”

“Hey,” Liam responded, “don’t joke about that quitting stuff. You’re not going to quit.”

Harry peeked an eye out to look at Liam, “Well what if I am?” he challenged.

Liam continued rubbing some gel on Harry’s elbow, “You’re not.” It wasn’t so much threatening as it was exasperated.

Liam picked up some tape and started wrapping Harry's elbow. 

"But really, man, what's up?” he asked. “It's polishing week isn't it?" 

Harry dropped his arm to his side and slumped. "Yeah," he sighed, "it is. But it's hard to polish when I can barely get through the program." 

"It's not just the jumps then?" Liam asked. 

Harry furrowed his eyebrows at him, "what do you mean?"

"Well, you said it's about getting through the program. All last week you said it was landing jumps," he explained. Harry hadn't realized he changed his words. "I mean, jumps you can fix. You're the best jumper I've ever trained, probably the best in the world. Hey," he said after Harry snorted, "you are. Even if you're off you're game right now." Harry appreciated the sentiment, but it was really hard to believe his words. "Even if you don't land a thing," he continued, "the points you get for just throwing all those quads will put you at the top of any US competition even with shit GOE's." 

"Yeah, but nobody cares about U.S. stuff very much this year, do they," Harry replied. It wasn't a question. "The only thing anyone cares about is PyeongChang. And they're all expecting me to get there." 

Liam was quiet for minute after that. The Olympics were the elephant in the room every time they had this conversation, and Harry had finally brought it up. He knew Harry was going to be big ever since he started competing on the junior level. Something about his methodical training method, coolness under pressure, and magnetic presence on the ice had made him stand out. It was easy to tell that Harry loved what he did, and it was hard to not get wrapped up in it with him. Then he’d absolutely exploded into the senior level competitions last year. His quads stunned spectators and judges alike, and he was practically untouchable. He was a star from day one, the coming Olympics only magnifying his spotlight as the regular world starting paying attention too. He’d done remarkably well under the pressure. Better than anyone expected from a 17 year old kid. He was the next big thing happening right now, and everyone was exited for what Harry Styles would do next.

Unfortunately, as the pressure pounded down on him, Liam saw his coolness start to crack. Of course, no spectator or judge could tell, but, again, being team trainer meant that Liam was privy to absolutely _everything_. And it hurt him to watch the kid who had become his friend suffer under so much expectation.

He wanted to just wrap him up in a blanket, put him on a couch and cuddle him until everything was okay again, but he kept wrapping his elbow instead. Harry felt like his whole body was being wrapped up, leaving him to suffocate under the weight of all the pressure and failure.

“How’s that feel?” Liam asked once he was finished. Harry moved his elbow a bit and was amazed at the work Liam could do on him.

“Fantastic,” he answered, “thanks, Li.”

“No problem. Keep some ice on it to help with swelling and all that.”

“Yes, mum,” Harry joked, dimples popping out even if he still looked worn down to the bone.

“So,” Liam took a step back and looked Harry in the eyes. “Jumps you can fix. But what’s all this about making it through programs?” He quirked and eyebrow and Harry regretted saying anything.

“It’s nothing,” he said, “just happens sometimes.”

Liam gave a laugh at that, “Not to you it doesn’t. Don’t think I haven’t seen your practices though, I know the long is giving you issues, even if I can’t tell why. A lot of skating going on, but not a ton of Harry Styles in it.”

Harry scowled at Liam. Stupid Liam and his stupid brain knowing stupid things about Harry’s stupid skating.

“You sound like Louis now” he grumbled before looking back up at Liam. “It’s _nothing_ ,” he repeated. Liam held his gaze, and Harry knew he needed to go on. “Just. Sometimes it takes a bit for a program to sink in,” he shrugged out.

“What,” Liam replied, “four months?” Both of his eyebrows were raised now and he looked very unconvinced.

Harry shrugged again. “I guess. Anyway, we can’t all be Louis bloody Tomlinson all the time.”

“And what’s all this about Tomlinson all the sudden?” Liam questioned.

Harry groaned and flopped back down on the bed.

“He hates me. I hate him. Thought you would’ve caught on by now, Li,” Harry teased.

“Ha bloody Ha, Harry. I know you two are determined to hate each other for some godforsaken reason—”

“It’s a long story.”

“But if I didn’t know better,” Liam continued without missing a beat, “I’d say you were jealous.”

Harry lifted his head to look at Liam. He wasn’t joking, but Harry didn’t have the energy to deal with this now.

“Good one, Li.”

“I’m serious, Harry,” Liam pressed, “Suddenly he’s back and better than ever and you’re—” Harry shot him a look that said _watch it_ , “struggling a bit,” Harry laughed. “I’m just saying it’s not out of the realm of possibility.”

Harry laughed again and sat up. “Well thank you, wise, sage, Liam. I’ll make sure to not let _Tomlinson_ get me too green. Not like I haven’t been dealing with him my whole life.” He said the last part under his breath, but Liam still heard him.

Harry made his way into the locker room and grabbed his things to head home. Ice pack still pressed against his elbow, he exited out into the rink. Immediately, he regretted not going back through Liam’s office instead as he heard the strains of Louis’ music in the air. He was doing the Hunchback of Notre Dame because _of course_ Simon would let him have something fun, new, and perfectly suited to his style, unlike Harry who had to deal with Phantom like every skater ever in history. Ever.

            “Morning in Paris the city awakes, to the Bells of Notre Dame…”

Harry watched Louis’ form rush past the walls of the rink, movements perfectly accentuating the music and exaggerated character already too far set in his face. It was annoying.

            “The fisherman fishes, the bakerman bakes to the bells of Notre Dame…”

He was spinning now, showing off all the flexibility he didn’t lose on his break. Most male skaters couldn’t pull off the positions Louis could, and Harry knew he was very smug about it.

            “To the big bells as loud as the thunder to the little bells soft as a psalm…”

He switched feet and continued spinning. Most people in the rink were watching him now. So what if he had perfect spins? It’s not like they’d ever been anything but.

            “And some say the soul of the city is the toll of the bells…”

He was setting up for a jump now, and Harry hated that he knew it was a triple lutz triple flip combination. He guessed it came with the territory of training together.

            “The bells of Notre Dame.”

It was perfect and Harry became even more annoyed. He knew he should just walk faster and get out of there, but some twisted part of him wanted to stay and watch. He just hoped Louis wouldn’t notice.

Of course, he had no such luck.

The music changed to “The Rhythm of the Tambourine,” and Louis caught Harry’s eyes as he skated by, throwing him a wink just to be insufferable.

            “Hey soldier boy, I see how you stare…”

And Harry had to mentally shake himself to make sure he wasn’t going mad. Louis was skating this to him, eyes locked and stupid smirk on his face.

            “Hey butcher man, I see you admire…”

Harry could feel the blood rushing to his face, and fought to keep it as nonplussed as possible.

            “Come gather round hey Jacques and Pierre…”

Harry finally snapped out of it and turned on his heel, heading for the doors as quickly as he could without actually running.

            “Come see me dance…”

The music was fading out of Harry’s hearing as he pushed through the doors into the lobby.

            “To the rhythm of the tambourine.”

He registered the unmistakable sound of blades slipping and a body hitting the ice.

            “Sloppy, Tomlinson” Simon called.

Harry knew he should have felt worse about the smirk that grew on his face as he pushed the doors out of the lobby and into the real world. But he didn't.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis thinks that trying to deal with an aching ankle, new routines, annoyingly endearing coaching staffera, and Harry fucking Styles all at once might be too much, but he'll be damned if he starts slipping now. So he'll shove it down and skate on. After all, what else is a comeback kid to do?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends! I'm so sorry this took so long, but here it is!  
> If you noticed in the little bit above, I changed it to 7 chapters total, but that's probably going to change again just bear with me I'm sorry. I'm hoping to update weekly from now on, but I'm also starting school in about a week again, plus I'm terribly prone to distraction so I'm sorry in advance. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!

“Sloppy Tomlinson,” Simon called, voice bouncing around the rink.

Louis huffed and looked back toward where Harry was standing before. He knew he shouldn’t let anything distract him, even if it _was_ just practice and even if it is _Harry Styles_. He got to his feet again and took off to catch up with his music.

Harry wasn’t in the rink anymore so Louis pushed whatever it was he was feeling about that _way_ down. The rest of his program went off without a hitch and Simon’s comments were brief: something about building stamina, something about jump position, building back strength, blah blah blah. Louis would hear it all tomorrow anyway, and it wasn’t like he went home and obsessed over everything like _some_ skaters he knew.

"But overall, you're in good shape considering," Simon ends. He skates off and leaves Louis to cool down and go home.

 _Considering._ The word echoes in his head without permission as he wills his muscles to relax. Louis knows exactly what Simon is _considering_. 

 _Considering_ you fucked your ankle last season. _Considering_ you've only been cleared for full training in the past two months. _Considering_ you weren't even the best before you got hurt. 

When he walked toward Liam’s office, he really tried not to look for curls and a signature scowl, but he ended up disappointed anyway. 

“Honey, I’m home!” Louis called, banging into the training area. The only acknowledgement Louis got was a grunt from Liam’s office, but he took it as an enthusiastic invitation and walked in.

“Li, you will not _believe_ what Styles did this afternoon during my session,” he started. Liam barely quirked an eyebrow from where he was seated at his desk. “First of all, coach makes him leave early because Simon’s an egregious prick and everyone hates him. But then I try to talk to him and he just skates away! And _then_ — _then_ the little curly devil gets the nerve to spy on my practice!” Liam had moved on to restocking his shelves but Louis didn’t mind. “He was just there, scowling like usual, so I did my little ‘Rhythm of the Tambourine’ section to him to maybe pull a laugh out of ‘im, and the little bastard just _leaves_ right in the middle of it! Completely threw off my flow man! And then I fell and Simon yelled at me but he yells at me even if I don’t fall so who really gives a fuck, ya know? But Styles was just _gone_ like nothing had happened so I couldn’t even take the mick after. Like, what kind of proper creep—”

“Lou!” Liam cut through. “For the love of _god._ " Louis blinked. "Take a breath.”

Louis clapped his mouth shut and scowled at Liam.

“In—” Liam prompted, taking an exaggerated inhale.

“Oh fuck off, Payne,” Louis exclaimed, but his growing smile ruined the ‘I will kill you in your sleep’ vibe he was going for.

“Annnndd out!” Liam finished, unperturbed. “Very good. Now next we’ll work on not yelling at your very nice friends who also make it so you aren’t too sore to move tomorrow, hmm?” Liam snarked back.

Louis scowled then took the most exaggerated breath he could manage, raising his arms at the end in a big finish. “As you wish, my liege,” Louis said, now bent into a deep bow. “What else do you command, wise, sage Liamiteous?”

“Hmm,” Liam took the bait, “a couple years of silence might do the trick.” At least he was smiling now. Louis thought that was a good enough accomplishment for the day.

“Oh, Li Li,” he sighed. “So wise yet still _so dense_. We both know that’s never going to happen.”

“Yeah, yeah. What are you doing here anyway?” Liam asked.

Louis opened his mouth to reply but just as quickly shut it. He actually had to consider that one.

“ _Please_ ,” Liam began, “ _don’t_ tell me you just came here to complain about Harry Styles.”

Louis looked Louis straight in the eyes but he couldn’t decide if he saw a plea or a challenge in them. He was slightly afraid to find out.

Finally, Louis resolved that any answer was better than none. “So what if I did?” he countered.

It was Liam’s turn to sigh and roll his eyes. He went back to whatever it is trainers do for a living. “So you’re not hurt?” he asked.

“Nope!”

“Then _please_ leave me in peace.”

“Liam!” Louis gasped, clutching his heart. He hopped on Liam’s examination table and swooned for good measure. “Now I’ve got a broken heart.”

“Yeah,” Liam smiled to himself as he mumbled, “doesn’t sound like I gave you that, mate.”

“What was that, Lima?” Louis asked.

“I said you smell bad.”

“Hurtful,” Louis said.

“And that you need to get a hobby that doesn’t involve a certain curly-headed figure skater” Liam finished, giving Louis a look so filled with sass that he was almost proud.

“Don’t got time for it, Leemo. At least this one I get to call work or scouting or whatever.”

“It’s probably not healthy, you know?” Liam said. “And you should trust me because I’m a doctor or something.”

“Or something,” Louis echoed.

“Don’t change the subject,” Liam reprimanded. He really was no fun.

He turned to Louis and moved his arm off his face. “So you’re so distracted by him that you fall now?” he poked.

“No,” Louis stated defensively. Liam looked very unimpressed. “I just fell after he left, ‘s all.” Louis willed his cheeks not to heat.

“Sure, Lou.”

“I’m serious!”

“So am I!” Liam mocked back. “If he’s making you fall, it’s probably not something you can just shove off.”

“Well it’s hard _not_ to be distracted when he’s just _staring_ at you!” Louis complained. “It’s like he’s sending lasers of hate right out of his eyes.” Louis put either had on the sides of his head and shot his fingers forward like little beams from his eyes. “Pew, pew!”

“He’s allowed to watch just like anyone else in the rink, Lou. Sounded like you were watching _his_ run.”

Louis ruffled at that and sat up. He didn’t like when Liam had a point. Liam rolled his eyes when he huffed and pouted in response.

“Why do you two hate each so much anyway? He was griping about you earlier too, but I thought it got better” Liam said, confused.

Louis snapped his head over. “He was talking about me?” he questioned.

“I’m not telling you anything.”

“You ought to.”

“No I bloody well ought not.”

Louis blew him a raspberry.

“Oh wow, so mature. Such compelling arguments.”

“Just tell me what he talked _about_.”

Liam sighed again. “I don’t know, Lou—”

“Bullshit.”

“Something about you being annoying.” Liam’s hands were flapping around. “The usual.”

“I’m not annoying!” Louis protested indignantly and completely seriously.

Unfortunately, both Liam _and_ Louis were fully aware that Louis was indeed _extremely_ annoying and stopped trying to convince himself or anyone else otherwise years ago. A laugh burst from Liam first and soon both boys were in near hysterics and gasping for breath.

“Okay,” Louis relented, “I’m annoying as fuck. But only I get to say so. At least just me and my friends.” He was scowling again.

“Why do you guys hate each other so much anyway?” Liam asked again, genuinely curious. No one really talked about _why_ Louis and Harry weren’t friends, just that they weren’t. Liam didn’t know them when they were kids, but from what he could gather, one day they just hated each other. It didn’t make much sense because Liam really thought they could actually be good friends—both annoying and weird and needy. What’s not to love?

“He just hates me,” Louis replied, “always has and always will.”

Liam snorted at that. Maybe he hadn’t been there since the beginning, but he’d been with the team long enough to know _some_ things. Louis whipped his head up to glare at him.

“We _both_ know that’s not true,” Liam said. Louis wanted to punch his stupid grin off his stupid face. “I seem to remember—”

“Don’t start, Payno.”

“a certain period of—”

“Shut _up_ , Liam!”

“let’s just say…” Louis was seething, Liam was fighting a smirk. “ _Definite_ friendliness.”

“Oh fuck off!”

“One might even say—” Liam made a small gagging sound as Louis held him in a headlock. “Hey,” he tried feebly, struggling against Louis’ hold. The little dude was stronger than he looked, especially when he was all worked up.

“Do you ever shut your trap, Payne?” Louis asked, actual agitation seeping into his sarcastic tone.

Liam shrugged. “’S only the truth,” he croaked.

Louis grumbled out some unintelligible, followed by a long groan as he let Liam free. “I fucking hate you, you know that?”

“Eh, the headlock was a decent clue,” Liam grumbled, rubbing at his neck.

“Yeah, well, shut it or I won’t let you go next time,” Louis threatened.

Liam chuckled, “sure, Lou. Whatever you say.”

Louis rolled his eyes and turned away, walking away from Liam and swaying his hips a bit more to accentuate his sass.

“I _do_ say,” Louis replied in his best faux-lofty voice. “And you’d do well to remember it.” He threw a wink at Liam before pushing the doors open and heading home.

 

The next day, Louis walked into the rink determined to stay focused and show Liam Payne that he didn’t know shit. He’d even broken out his new matching Adidas pants and shirt because he was feeling especially bad ass. Usually he didn’t like looking like a walking sponsor advert, but sometimes one needed to use the perks that came with being a professional, and his bum looked fantastic in the custom cut fabric.

A low whistle sounded as he walked through the lobby.

“Nice ass, Lou!” a familiar Irish voice chimed.

Louis turned to face Niall who had a hot dog in one hand and a water bottle in the other. He took a massive bite and Louis tried not to cringe at the gross vending food.

“Those new?” he asked through his food.

Louis shrugged and wiggled his butt a little in Niall’s direction. He cocked his hip, “Might be.”

Niall let out a single “ha!” and wolfed down the rest of his snack. He slapped Louis on the butt with a wink before swallowing and turning away.

“Be on the ice in 10!” he called.

Louis grunted at Niall’s demand but started stretching anyway, a flurry of whirling, twisting, and extending limbs to excite his muscles and center his mind. He was just warming up his left calf when he realized he wasn’t scheduled to work on choreography today. Huffing in confusion, he jogged into the cool air of the rink and called after Niall.

“Oi! Irish!” A blond head appeared from the sideboards and looked toward him. “The fuck are we doing today anyway?” People were watching and he probably should’ve checked his language. Whoops.

“Coach said we’re re-working your footwork and entrances,” Niall called back. “Something about making ya more competitive ‘n shit.” Niall cursed like a sailor too so Louis was momentarily comforted before his words set in.

“Wait” he said. “What?”

But before Niall could reply, Simon’s voice cut him off.

“We’re not paying you to stand around, Tomlinson! Go lace up!”

Louis didn’t know Simon was listening so his outburst startled him so much that he actually felt heat rising to his cheeks at being caught. Calling an apology over his shoulder, he turned to scamper out the door like he was just a kid again, up to no good. His head was hanging a little too, until he realized what he was doing.

 _Wait,_ he thought, but didn’t break his stride. He pushed the door open with the flat of his palm.

“I pay _you_ ,” he whispered to himself. His head shook in confusion at so many things.

 

By the time he was out on the ice warming up, the rink had cleared a bit and it was somehow just Louis, Simon, and the team’s two choreographers: Niall and another kid his age named Zayn.

They were a great team of choreographers. Where Niall was energy and light and explosions, Zayn was control, darkness, and contemplation, with both of them creating and tweaking and polishing, Team Cowell’s routines were recognizable by their depth and complexity, and Louis was an absolutely wonderful canvas for the two of them. He could capture any emotion they threw at him, emulate any style, but still maintain an individuality that made the routines _his_. He was a choreographer’s dream, but he had also finished choreography months ago. So what was all this?

“Empty ice?” he asked Simon.

He nodded but that was all.

“I think he thinks you’re gonna put up a fight, mate,” Zayn chimed in grinning.

Louis shot a bewildered stare in his direction.

“What Zayn _means_ , Lou,” Niall amended, “is that you tend to…” He stopped to mull over his next few words.

“Resist,” he decided on. “When pushed to take…” there it was again. He was holding something back. Louis wasn’t sure what to make of all this. It felt like an intervention, but he had no idea what they were on about.

“Risks,” Simon finished for him.

“Yeah,” Niall agreed. “Risks.”

“Risks?” Louis asked, raising an eyebrow and crossing his arms over his chest.

“Risks,” Zayn agreed with a nod.

“And is anyone going to tell me what these bloody _risks_ are?” Louis questioned. “Or are we just going to say it over and over again?”

Louis flicked his eyes from one pair to the next, silently daring. They were all holding something back, the air heavily with things unsaid. An elephant shrieking in the silent rink.

Simon took the bait, but everyone had been waiting for him anyway.

“You don’t have the jumps you need to pull ahead.” It was harsh and he saw Niall wince out of the corner of his eye, but he remained still. This wasn’t new information. “And you refuse to add any more quads, even though you have them and you could” Simon continued. Louis jutted his chin out, obstinate and cool. “So we’ll have to make up for it with footwork, entrances, and step sequences.”

“So we’re here to amp up my skating so I can beat everyone else to a pulp?” Louis asked the room at large.

“Pretty much,” Niall said at the same time that Zayn let out a “yeah.”

Louis felt a smile tug his lips upward. _This_ he could work with.

“Let’s go then.”

 

Two and a half hours later, Louis, Niall, and Zayn were drenched with sweat and bickering. They had just finished his new step sequence (which was a _bitch_ ), and now they wanted to add a ridiculous jump entrance to the end of it.

“Do you want me to _die_ on the ice?” Louis asked.

“You won’t die” Niall said.

“I bloody well might if you expect me to do this!”

Zayn rolled his eyes and snorted. “Stop being dramatic, Lou.”

“Oh don’t you ‘Lou’ me” Louis threatened. “Not when you’re both trying to do me in.”

“Okay,” Niall said, “it’s _really_ not that bad. You’re probably just tired right now.”

“Not that _bad_?!” Louis shouted incredulously. “Hows about you do it then?!”

“Not our job, mate” Zayn smirked.

“Not yours to make me do crazy shit either!” Louis argued.

Niall couldn’t hold back a snicker at that. “Well,” he began as Louis shot him the dirtiest look he could muster. “It kind of _is_.”

Zayn was chuckling too now. “Yeah, he’s right, Lou” Zayn said. “Simon actually used the phrase ‘crazy shit’ when he asked us to start working on new steps for you.”

Louis threw up his arms and let out a small yell of frustration. He could see Zayn and Niall’s terribly suppressed mirth and decided he should remove himself from the situation before he strangled them.

“I’m taking a lap,” he muttered.

The sound of blades cutting ice followed him around the rink, drowning out the few giggles from his shithead choreographers. He focused on breathing “intentionally,” or at least trying to. Simon had forced them all to take yoga a few years back, and Louis only very seldom and very grudgingly admitted that it was useful. He was also working on loosening his right ankle again. It had started tightening from the strain and complexity of his new footwork, but he didn’t have time for the old thing now. So he decided it wouldn’t be an issue and that was the end of that.

He heard someone else trying to catch up to him and tried not to be annoyed.

“I’m not in the mood, dipshit,” he gritted out.

“Come off it, man,” Niall huffed. “Or at least slow the fuck down.”

Louis immediately skidded into a snowplow stop that was dramatic even by his standards.

“Shit!” Niall and Zayn flew past him before snow erupted from under their skates as they stopped.

“Dick,” Niall said at the same time Zayn said “Fuck you.”

“Thanks for the offers. But no thanks,” Louis smirked. “Now, have you two decided _not_ to murder me yet?” He was rolling his right ankle on its toe pick as casually as possible, arms crossed against his chest.

Niall and Zayn exchanged a look before Zayn let out a breath. “You need the points, Lou,” he said. “You know you do. It’s not—”

“What I _need_ ,” Louis interrupted, “are clean skates. And that’s not going to happen if I’m on my arse every 20 seconds.”

Zayn’s seemed to notice Louis posture and his eyes flicked down to where Louis was babying his ankle. They met Louis’ again, but he decided not to comment after taking in the threat behind the baby blues. A wave of understanding hit him and skated closer, putting a hand on Louis’ arm.

“You won’t be on your arse every 20 seconds.”

“Bullshit” Louis spat.

“You can skate this stuff, Lou. Why don’t you think you can?” Zayn’s tone had softened and lowered. He sent a look to Niall that must have meant something to them, because Niall skated off in a moment, muttering something about water and gloves.

“Lou,” Zayn continued when Louis didn’t say anything, “what’s going on?”

“Nothing’s going on you prat” Louis replied, shrugging Zayn’s arm off. “I just don’t like taking stupid risks. I never have.” Zayn still looked unconvinced. “It’s nothing _new_.”

Louis knew exactly what Zayn was on about. He thought Louis was scared or something because of his injury. But that just wasn’t true. Wasn’t the whole story at least. He’d always been a safe skater. He was consistent and solid and could count the number of times he’d fallen in competition. And that’s exactly the way he wanted to skate. He’d never needed risky jumps or turns, always letting his skating skills and artistry speak for themselves. Why change that now?

Zayn crossed his arms over his chest to mirror Louis’.

“No” he began, measured and low. “But these aren’t stupid risks” he told his very unamused friend. Louis scoffed. “They _aren’t_ ” he emphasized before Louis could object. “These barely even qualify as risks. We’re just calling them that because we knew that’s how you’d see them. They’re well within your skating level, especially now since you’re in the best shape you’ve ever been. It’s time for an upgrade and you know it.”

Louis _did_ know it, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. He decided to be difficult instead.

“ _OR_ ,” his voice was rising now, “I just skate what I’ve been practicing and doing _cleanly_ , and maybe we can ramp it up at the right time later in the season.”

Zayn’s face flickered with something almost akin to pity and Louis had to take some more intentional breaths. He tried to convince himself that he really meant what he’d said, but they both knew he didn’t.

Zayn’s face steeled into something more resilient. “You know that the right time is right now.” Louis understood the special weight in his words. Understood that this season wasn’t just about Grand Prix Finals or Worlds. Understood that, just like everyone else, Zayn’s eyes were set on five rings and a podium halfway around the world.

They stared at each other for a while, neither boy daring to move forward or back down. Louis quirked an eyebrow and Zayn shifted his weight to one hip. They could hear Niall whistling by the sideboards, but even that couldn’t infiltrate the moment. A standoff between two people who really only wanted the same thing. The issue was that no one ever really knows how to get there.

“Fine,” his Yorkshire accent cut through the ice. “If I die,” Louis said, taking off across the rink, “it’s entirely your fault.” He was halfway across the rink, and Zayn let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “Isn’t that right Niall?”

Niall’s laugh melted the rest of the tension in the air as he slid off the wall and back onto to ice. “Damn straight!” he cackled, “’cuz it ain’t gonna be mine!”

 

That weekend found Louis with his ankle twinging and taped up under his skate. He was on public ice, set to teach his 10 o’clock lesson with a genuinely talented and generally pleasant kid called Sam. Teaching lesson had gotten him through his injury, both by paying his bills and keeping him sane and on the ice. He’d given most of his other students to other capable and probably more qualified teachers, but he just couldn’t give up Sam. It was probably selfish of him, but the look on the kid’s face when he found out Louis was going back to full time training and thought he’d stop teaching him was just too much to handle. He promised to be Sam’s coach for at least the rest of the summer, but was seriously concerned about what he would do once competitions started again.

A little figure in red and grey waved to him as it stepped on the ice to warm up. Louis kept up his own warm up, stroking around the rink for a good five minutes before he spotted another familiar figure also taking some laps. This one looked almost normal amongst the other public skaters, black sweatpants, navy hoodie, and grey beanie doing wonders in the camouflage department, but not quite enough to hide the years of training beneath them. And of course the green eyes that Louis was convinced could see in the dark like a cat’s.

They glowed like they could at least, and Harry always knew what Louis was up to at night when they shared hotel rooms for competitions. Louis had been meaning to ask him about it for years, but never quite felt like a fist to the face or one of Harry’s famous disapproving scowls.

He did, however, feel up to being a pest today.

“Is that the famous and successful _Harry Styles_ skating on a public session?” he gasped, skating up behind Harry.

He flinched and turned around, a confusing intensity in his eyes, and Louis nearly felt bad for teasing him. His body visibly relaxed upon seeing that it was only Louis, a faint “fuck’s sake” escaping his lips.

“Now now, Harold! We don’t use that kind of language on public ice ‘round here” Louis reprimanded with glee. “But because it very well might be your first time, I’ll let it slide.” He flashed Harry his best smile before he rolled his eyes and picked up his pace to get away from Louis.

He grumbled something that Louis couldn’t hear, so Louis sped up too.

“Didn’t quite catch that, pumpkin,” Louis said.

“I’ve been on public ice before,” Harry repeated louder. “I’m not a princess” he scowled.

“With an arse like that, you could’ve fooled me Styles” Louis teased with a wink. Harry let out a frustrated noise, but quickly darted his eyes around the rink. It took Louis a minute, but Louis realized Harry was afraid of being recognized and kept from practicing.

“No one will recognize you here,” Louis told him. “And even if they do, they won’t care enough to really bother you.” Harry looked at him, a little desperate and a lot cautious. “Really,” Louis confirmed, “the most I’ve been asked for is a picture.”

Louis watched the anxiety in Harry’s eyes go down. “Okay,” he accepted, “Um. Thanks.”

Louis wasn’t sure what to say after that, but something kept him skating next to Harry. Maybe it was the familiarity, maybe it was the comfort of having another professional on the ice while being surrounded by so many unexperienced skaters. Louis prided himself on not being disdainful about who he shared the ice with, but that didn’t mean a bunch of regular joes sliding around on sharp blades didn’t make him nervous.

“To be honest,” Harry continued, pulling Louis from his thoughts, “I’m a little disappointed you recognized me.” He glanced at Louis as they rounded the curve with practiced crossovers, whizzing past the other skaters. He looked genuinely put out, but there was humor in his gaze too. “I really thought the track suit and beanie would do it.”

He sucked his bottom lip under his teeth and gave a small smile. Louis hadn’t seen that smile directed at him in years, and he was taken aback. He returned a small smile of his own and couldn’t help but think, _This is nice_. 

“Harry,” he replied, still smiling a little bit, “you’ve been skating since you could walk. Did you really think you could look like an amateur?”

Harry shrugged, lips turning down in a brief pout and eyebrows knitting together. “Just didn’t think I’d stick out that much.”

Louis fixed him with a bemused look. “Darling you’d stick out in a field of twigs.”

“That doesn’t make sense” Harry frowned at him, traces of friendliness disappearing from his face.

“Yeah, but it still got you all disgruntled.”

“I hate you” Harry responded, face neutral once more. There was no real venom in it, just a well-worn statement.

“I know.” Louis’ face was still reflecting too much amusement for Harry’s taste, so he looked away.

“Then why do you keep _talking_ to me?” He was frustrated now.

“You’re too fun to mess with. Get all red and everything.”

“Fuck you.”

Louis raised an eyebrow. The corner of his lip pulled up. That’s all he needed to say.

Harry stopped their laps and Louis turned to look at him. Their faces were about a foot apart, Harry critical and defensive, Louis open and challenging. They hadn’t quite stopped drifting and were almost toe to toe without moving a muscle. The next second, they were saved from doing something like punching each other or kissing by a small voice that called out, “Louis!”

Sam came barreling toward him and sprayed both their ankles with snow as he stopped. “Did you see that?!” he asked, eyes bright with pride and excitement. Louis ripped his eyes from Harry’s and looked down to find Sam practically vibrating in his skates.

“Sorry, bud, I must’ve missed it.”

Sam visibly slumped, green eyes dropping.

“How ‘bout you show me now though, yeah?” Louis asked.

Sam perked up at his suggestion and skated up calling, “If I mess it up this time, just imagine that I didn’t!”

Louis laughed at that and turned to excuse himself from Harry’s company, but Harry wasn’t there. Louis’ eyebrows scrunched as he scanned the rink until he spotted a figure in frumpy sweats, executing some edge pulls that were way too good for a public session.

He could still make out Harry’s frown from all the way across the rink, but couldn’t quite figure out what that feeling was in his chest. Disappointment maybe? Annoyance? Probably just left over adrenaline.

He didn’t have time for it right now though. Deciding it was nothing, he tore his eyes away and skated over to Sam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!! I'll be making a tumblr post for this chapter really soon, but for now please use the link at the bottom of the last chapter if you have cause for one! I love you all!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it!! If you liked it, please let me know! The tumblr post for this fic can be found [ here ](https://hereforhappylarry.tumblr.com/post/176450897633/cut-deep-into-your-soul-by-eleven11-in-the-world).


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